Any Other Woman
by ClappingForTinkerbell
Summary: A different name...a different life...but she's not so sure that's what she wants anymore. And Puck...well, he just wants his Berry back. A Puckleberry future-fic.
1. In Some Dark Lit Room

**A/N:** Hi guys...this is my first Glee fanfic idea. It's a future-fic, starring our very own Rachel Berry and the ever handsome Noah Puckerman. Hope you like it!

**Disclaimer:** Wish I owned Glee, but I really don't :(

...the things he did for chicks. Noah Puckerman couldn't help but scoff at himself as he stepped into the dimly lit club. Shaking his head, he sat down at one of the circular tables that could only fit two of the tiny dark stained chairs with faded red upholstry. In the relatively small venue he was situated towards the back. Since he figured he'd capitulated to her demands with little enough fuss, he damn well deserved this spot...conveniently located directly in front of the bar. He was certain that before the night was through, he would make good use of its close proximity.

The room was covered in a thick smoky haze. That was one of the many things he couldn't understand about his _current_ fling (because he figured that after tonight's consession to her inane request and the er...benefits that came with it, he was officially done) This girl smoked like a fucking chimmney. Didn't she know that shit was bad for you? After tonight, he thought, he was through making out with an ash tray. ...an ash tray with big boobs and 'do-me' eyes...but that only got you so far. He _was_ a stud afterall. Jessica had known that going in, and hey, what was so wrong with going out with a (literal) bang? Absolutely nothing, Puck thought, _especially_ since he'd promised to sit, pretend to listen to her ten minute set and buy her an over-priced dinner at that new fancy ass restaurant downtown. Jazz club? Puck smirked...and Jessica singing jazz. He supposed there were worse things. At the very least he consoled himself with the fact that the game wasn't on tonight.

A man with a dark grey fedora, black button up shirt and black jeans stepped onto the stage setting up a tall wooden stool and an old fashioned mike in the middle, so that the spotlight shone directly on them. He gave a slick smile as he gazed at the audience. The room had filled up considerably, Puck noted with surprise, and realized belatedly that he was lucky he'd gotten a seat at all.

"I'm not gonna be coy and pretend I don't know why you're all here tonight," fedora man began, "but despite the presence of a star in our midst, we at The Black Cat wanted to remind you all that it _is_ amateur night."

Though it was obvious most of the crowd was attempting to be polite, there was still an audible groan of disappointment at his words. He laughed, as though expecting the protest. "but to start the show is a little teaser for what's to come...something to get you all through an hour and a half of divas in the making. Let's give a Black Cat welcome to the star of the night, Lima's own Ms. !"

Amidst the frenzied applause, Puck found it difficult to swallow down his JD on the rocks. Time froze as she walked onto the stage, demanding ownership of it, and of their attention. She'd had his immediately. Ms. St. James? The fuck she was. He'd know those dark brown tresses anywhere...he'd run his hands through the thick, silky strands. He knew those intense, soul shattering eyes...he'd gazed into them as she focused only on him. He knew how soft and sweet her upturned lips were...he'd tasted them. Gone was the bright pink cardigan, barely there plaid skirt and knee high socks in flats. She was in a tight sheath dress, black, skimming just above the knee. Her black, patent leather stiletto pumps glistened as she crossed a leg deftly over the other as she settled on the stool. Puck's head swirled with images of what she was wearing under that skirt and cursed the fact that he wasn't any closer to the stage where he might...if she angled her legs in just the right way...find out for himself. Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath, feeling the power of the song fill her lungs, letting her voice surge in a passionate ardour, leaving the audience tingling at the sound. She made him want to light himself on fire. She was Rachel fucking Berry.


	2. Waiting for the Man I Love

**A/N:** The song sung by Rachel, and the title of the chapter is from "The Man I Love" by George and Ira Gershwin

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee or any of the songs mentioned...

"Are you even listening to me Puck?" Jessica demanded, "in fact, were you even listening to me at all while I was up there?" She was more than a little dejected at the lack of animated applause after her set, and her boyfriend wasn't helping any, giving non-comittal grunts when all she was looking for was a little understanding. "Puck! God, are you deaf?"

A heartbeat passed..."Baby, you know it," he replied, distracted.

Puck had absolutely no clue what the chick beside him was blabbing about. Rachel was up on that stage...Rachel Berry...and a part of him liked to think that somehow she knew he was here watching her (she was psychic afterall). He wanted to think she was singing in that knowing, teasing way to rile him up some, to make him crave to the point of insanity what he'd lost. Distantly he thought his train of masochistic thoughts ought to be disturbing, but he found a sick peace in them. If that's what she was doing, it meant she remembered him enough to care.

"Are you trying to look up her skirt?" Jessica gasped after a moment, scandalized.

Grunt

"You're really sick, you know that?"

"Sure baby, whatever you say..."

"Puck! For God's sake's, pay attention to me!"

Grunt.

"Look, I'll forgive all this crap if you name one of the songs that I sang up there."

Silence.

"You're still not listening."

"Yeah babe...Okay..."

"Fine! So what was it then? What did I sing?" Jessica pressed, her voice escalating as she interrupted his reverie.

"What?" Puck finally replied, breaking his intent staring away from the stage. He'd only done it because her voice had that tell-tale shrill to it that chicks got when they were about to reem a guy out. He was no fool. Jessica pulled a cigarette and lighter out from her purse with deceptive calm.

"I asked you what song I sang. Name one of the songs." When his face looked back at her completely blank, she inhaled from her cigarette deeply, and with a purposeful puff, exhaled the smoke right into Puck's face.

"Damn it woman," he cursed in surprise, since he'd focused his attention back on the stage in the meantime, "blow that shit somewhere else."

Shaking with fury, she exhaled to the right, just missing Puck's cheek, close enough still to garner her a raised brow. "Bastard! Tell me what I sang or I'm leaving," she threatened softly.

Puck's face contorted in disbelief, "You're kidding right?" He ignored the glare she gave him, " 'caus that's just fucking nuts." He was looked unrepentant at the declaration.

In one violent motion, Jessica shot up from her seat. "We're through," she stated, sticking her cigarette between her lips as she gathered her coat and purse. Puck merely shrugged as she prepared to leave, if anything, settling himself into the worn chair to make himself more comfortable.

"You're just gonna sit there?" she gasped, at the very least expecting a half-baked, half-meant apology...which she would have probably forgiven-he was a SEX GOD afterall...

He turned to her with a cocky half smile, "Baby, I was gonna break up with you anyway. Sure, the sex would have been pretty sweet. I'm sorry I have to miss out on that tonight, 'caus a stud like me's got needs. But your leaving saves me a trip to a stupidly expensive restaurant that would have served me snails. It was nice while it lasted babe," he turned away, dismissing her completely.

For a moment she merely opened and shut her mouth like a fish. "You...you...!" she finally managed to sputter, "complete and _utter_ fuck-up!" she screamed...loudly enough so that Rachel raised a brow at the interruption. Her song had just reached an instrumental solo. Out of character for a moment, Rachel allowed herself a barely noticable roll of the eyes when she registered that Noah Puckerman appeared to be at the center of the commotion.

"Jessica," Puck said quietly, with admirable calm as she began to make a huffy, dramatic exit, "you really should consider gum, or patches or something," he gestured towards her cigarette, "That shit'll kill you one day."

Of course she'd seem him almost immediately. He had a presence about him that couldn't be ignored. But she had a job to do. Rachel Berry's rules of performance... Scan the room. Demand their attention. Take a deep breath. Let everything else fade away. Allow the song take over. Wait for the applause.

When she spotted him in the back, his handsome features half obsured by shadows, she knew she was bound to break all of those rules. She was distracted. Her timing felt off. Her voice would waver at simple notes in the middle of her range. God knew there were only a few choice times Rachel Berry wanted to shy away from being the center of attention. She could probably count those instances quite comfortably on one hand. This was one of those times.

Of course he'd been with _her..._the loud, abnoxious brunette who'd butchered Billie Holiday...repeatedly. Could her skirt have been any shorter? Really, Rachel thought, wasn't there such a thing as decency? She would be the first to admit that her highschool style _was_ daring from the waist down a la Britney Spears in her 'Baby One More Time' video, but she was also quick to counter that this was balanced well by the modest blouses and animal embelished tops she chose to wear. But that...that _woman_ he'd been with, had no style...no finesse. Why she looked...she looked...Rachel paused for a moment to really reflect. That woman Noah had been with looked like a slutty version of herself...but with a gentile's nose. The nerve of that cocky, arrogant, self-serving cretin! How dare he be with someone who had a more symetrical face and could be, as a result of this, consequently perceived as better looking than her? Rachel silently seethed at the thought. The girl's talent was obviously faltering between middling to less than mediocre. She was clearly inept at dramatic exits..._everyone_ knew that the point of making those exits was to have the last word. She should have left while she was ahead. Rachel Berry's rule number one for dealing with Noah Puckerman...don't let him get a word in edgewise or you'll be left reeling. How could the girl have been so unattuned with the rules she'd adopted so quickly from an inherent sense of understanding Noah? (as well as a healthy desire for self-preservation)

_and so all else above, I'm waiting for the man I love..._

She sang the last lines of her song to a crowd that was already on its feet. It was nice to get recognition of a job well done again. Although she loved her stints on Broadway, the New York audience seemed more jaded...harder to please...and so she always left the theater feeling vulnerable, sacrificing pieces of herself show after show after matinee, after matinee. She was burnt out and exhausted, not just from work, but also from the emotional plummetting-down-to-hell rollercoaster that was her personal life. She needed home, roots, family...quiet. As loathe as she was to admit it, she need Lima Ohio now, just as much as she needed to get away from Lima Ohio four years before. She smiled, waved and gave her final bow, but her smile faltered slightly as she caught his obvious leer in her direction, clapping all the while. There, looking sinful as ever stood the hitch to her plans for home, roots, family and quiet. What was she going to do about Noah Puckerman?


	3. Life Without You

**A/N:**So this is uber angsty guys...like wincing while reading angsty. LOL...I like to think of my other fic as "the light one" and this is definitely "the dark one" Hope you like... ;)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own nor am I associated with anything that has to do with Glee. I write for fun...I find it cathartic...like therapy, only much, much cheaper...

When she finished her set she knew instinctively to be on her guard. Sure enough, in the darkened hallway just outside her dressing room, he stood, leaning, signature smirk on his face.

"Berry."

"Noah..."

"The big douche wouldn't let me into your dressing room."

Rachel acknowledged the bouncer with a grateful nod of her head, "That's because he's good at his job."

"I told him I knew you." Puck turned to the heavier set man and said, cocky as ever, "Told you I knew her, man." He grinned as he saw her stifle a smile.

"Incorrigible as always," she said lightly, then sighed deeply looking into his hazel eyes, "How are you?"

It was the intensity of her gaze that momentarily threw him off his game. He'd missed that...the intent look she gave when she was being serious. He found himself unable to return with a witty, snide remark. Instead he shrugged, "I'm fine I guess."

They walked inside her dressing room and she shut the door behind them. "That's really...that's good. I'm glad you're doing okay," she responded, unsure of what to say...where to start. It felt odd to be so uneasy around him, when her natural inclination was to lean into him, wrap herself around him and imagine never having to let go. Instead, she stood there, awkward, nervously looking down and biting lightly on her lower lip.

Puck frowned. Something was wrong. This woman, this gorgeous, sexy-as-hell, 16 year old boy's wet dream woman wasn't Rachel. For one thing, Rachel Berry always, always looked him in the eye as an equal...as his superior even. She had no qualms about ranting in righteous indignation about her version of the past. Hell, Puck had been anticipating the reaming out of a lifetime...like, bleeding ears for a week bad. This silence...this insecurity, it was so much worse.

"What about you Berry? Looks like the diva training paid off," he joked, attempting to lighten the mood, "You sounded pretty damn sexy up there. And you have a smokin' hot bod, babe. Wasn't sure what to pay attention to most." There was momentary silence. "The bod won...in case you were wondering,"

Rachel gave a weak laugh, "Two hours of yoga, cardio and weights everyday," she explained.

"You trying to kill me woman? Why would you give me a visual like that? Hot, sweaty and sticky? That's going into the Puckerone spank bank."

"That's disgusting Noah," she protested, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

He wriggled his brows, "I work out too. Bench pressing, sweat glistening down my gigantic..."

She let out a giggle...a true one. Puck thought he'd never felt so relieved to hear a single sound. "Must you always be so base Noah?"

"I was gonna say guns," he said with mock defensiveness, "Get your mind out of the gutter. Geez Berry."

Rachel shook her head and smiled, "I really missed you," she sighed.

"Yeah?"

She cleared her throat, "Well, you know, take away the chauvinistic tendencies, certifiable superiority complex, and general potty mouth, you're not so bad."

"Yeah, well...you're short."

"I'm short?" she asked, half puzzled and half amused by his declaration.

"And I missed you anyway."

Despite her own better judgement, she let herself fall into him...how could she resist? He said he missed her. And for now, she was willing to push aside the thoughts of the trampy girl he'd been with tonight, the thoughts of how they'd spent the past four years apart. She held him like her life depended on it (and maybe for some small part of her...it did). She breathed in the familiar scent of him, his cologne, the lingering scent of whatever musky soap he'd been using since highschool, and, she supposed whatever essence it was that made him uniquely, her Noah.

Shocked at the impact her body made against his, then content as she seemed to weld herself into him, Noah was secretly greatful at the knowledge that they still fit together so well (her head leaned snugly against his chest and he rested his linked wrists comfortably against the soft curve in her lower back). "Berry," he breathed against the top of her head, "Berry, I..." She suddenly stiffened and slowly, but purposefully pulled away from his embrace. He winced at the loss of connection between them. "What? What's the problem?"

"St. James," she said so softly, Puck could barely make out the words. "That's um...I don't go by Berry anymore," she explained. "I stopped when...I changed my name...after..."

"After you married him," Puck clarified, "I didn't really think you would."

A beat passed...then two...In those moments, all the insecurities, all the feelings of loss, of helplessness barrelled their way to the top of the deep well of emotions she had tried so desperately to control, "Well, as I recall," she began, her tone intense, hateful, "you told me to,"

Puck snapped, "The fuck I did!" he thundered darkly, a dangerous glint in his eye, "Why the_ fuck _would I tell you to marry a douche like him? The _fuck_ Rachel!"

She gulped, his anger so thick around them that she needed to step back from him...she would suffocate if she didn't. She made an involuntary choking sound as she continued to back away.

"Don't do that," he demanded, "You face this head on damn it! Rachel Berry doesn't let this shit go. Rachel Berry fights like a fucking lioness until she gets to have her say."

"Rachel Berry doesn't exist anymore!" she cried with passion matching his own. She took in a shaky breath. "She doesn't exist," she said softly.

"That's bullshit and you know it,"

"How dare you? You don't know anything about me, about my life and the people in it." She shook her head, "You have no right to tell me what to think or what to do. Four years ago you told me that we were no good for each other. Do you remember that? Four years ago you said that you would only end up hurting me. ...because that's what _studs like you _did. Did you ever consider that maybe there was something out there that could hurt me worse than you could, or that maybe nothing could hurt me worse that what you said?"

"That's what I'm talking about!" Noah stated, "_That's_ Rachel Berry right there..."

"I think you should leave."

"Rach," he said his voice quiet but intense, "What the hell happened to you?"

"Life," she replied, opening the door to her room to expedite his exit, "Life without you."


	4. The Summons

**A/N:** Sorry for the LONG delay in writing guys…the next few chapters should be published fairly close together. I was busy at work and trying to finish up some papers…hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own, nor am I associated with anything that has to do with Glee. That all belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox.

The message was polite and concise. None of the Berrys were fooled. There was a subtle threat in those few lines that summoned her back to New York. You couldn't ignore a St. James _request_.

"They can't do this honey bear. We won't let them,"

"Of course they can Daddy," Rachel countered matter-of-factly, "Gerald St. James is as rich as Croesus. He can do whatever he wants, so, logically, by extension, can his family."

"They can't control _you_," Rachel's Dad insisted, "You're in charge of yourself."

Rachel gave both her fathers a bland smile and realized there were things they simply couldn't...or wouldn't understand. Case in point, the permanent, albeit figurative lasso the St. James' had around her neck was the solid gold band on her left ring finger...a visual testament to their power. She closed her eyes and held a hand to her abdomen, the gesture unconsciously protective. This new, literal development would now ensure that their choke hold on her would last forever. She sighed, realizing how bleak her situation truly was.

"Is there something you're not telling us Rachel?" her Daddy asked in concern.

"No of course not," Rachel quickly denied. "It's...Gerald's right of course. I signed a contract. It's just another month, that's all. I have to honor my commitments," she (barely) stopped herself from wincing at that, "Besides, it's every girl's dream to dress like a lady of the night and grind up against poles twice a day, six days a week," she joked weakly, making reference to her role as Mimi in the Broadway production of Rent.

"I thought you said you were staying here indefinitely, that you and Jesse were going through a rough patch..." her Dad ignored her sad attempt at a joke.

"But we can't get through the rough patch if I'm not there to fix it," Rachel countered reasonably. The pit of her stomach recoiled. _I want to stay here. I don't want to go back there. Please. Not yet. _She had yet to admit to herself that part of the reason why she didn't fight against the St. James' summons back to New York was that pivotal encounter with Noah. She didn't think (though she'd hoped against reason) that he was the type to settle in Lima and that he would still be there when she finally had the nerve to come back. But he was here, and it seemed that finding some sanctuary in Lima, Ohio to regain her peace of mind was impossible.

"This isn't like you honey bear, being so torn like this, so fickle..."

"I promise you, my decisions are sound. I guess...I think I was hoping to find something here that doesn't exist anymore. You know, returning to the epicenter of youthful dreams...that sort of thing. I must be going through an artistic muse searching phase." She'd added just enough dramatic flair and exaggerated anguish to her voice to make her fathers think that everything was fine...that she was having a profoundly _Rachel_ moment. She thought, let them think that. What was the harm in letting her parents believe that her life had played out the way it was supposed to?

They'd tried their very best. They'd put her in competitions, in classes, in whatever they could to make her into a star...to make her dreams come true. And how were they supposed to know that stardom and all that came with it had come at a price that she no longer felt capable of paying?

"So you're fine then? You promise?"

"Think of this brief stay as an immensely overdue visit. I'm okay. I have everything I ever wanted...and deserved," she added, unable to hide a tinge of bitterness that crept into her voice. "The men in my life have always guided me, showed me what was best for me," she sighed. "And New York is what's best for me. Jesse's what's best for me, right?" There was, if you listened for it, a desperate plea in her voice. What she wanted...needed was one of her fathers to tell her that no, none of those things were good for her. Not anymore. But there was no argument to her statements. As far as the Berrys were concerned, everything she'd said was true.

"I guess I should pack," she reddened and said sheepishly, "I brought a lot of suitcases." But that was because she had intended to stay in Lima…because she had wanted to make a statement…because she relished the thought that Jesse would come home to her bare closets and empty shelves.

Her daddy gave her a steady, almost grim look that she was unable to interpret. He cleared his throat, "I'll book your flight."

**(GLEE!)**

Without preamble, Puck stormed past his buddy into a stereotypically decked out bachelor pad that was Finn Hudson's apartment.

"You're pissed," Finn observed, cracking open a beer.

"And you're a fucking idiot," Puck retorted, glaring up at him from his sitting position on the navy blue couch. Finn looked back at him blankly, infuriating him more, "Jesse, fucking St. Jerk-off?" Puck demanded.

"Yeah?" Finn questioned, still not following.

"I said keep god-damn tabs on her and tell me the shit I needed to know."

Finn put both hands in the air as if in surrender, "I told you she was married, man,"

"You didn't tell me she was married to Jesse -Wad"

"Dude, the fact was, she got married. I didn't think it would matter who she got married to," Finn reasoned out, "You couldn't have gotten more plastered that night as it was. I had to tell you again the next day, and you got trashed that night too."

"I thought it was...you know...some random rich prick who would make her life better...not the guy who lied to her and turned her into a fucking..."

"Omelet," Finn finished, "Yeah. I remember."

"That rich prick was supposed to, you know, go all pansy gentleman on her ass. Give her nice things...find a way to get her a fucking Tony or whatever." Puck grabbed his own beer and flicked on Finn's 52 incher to watch the game.

"You wouldn'tve done anything different if you knew who she married," Finn said unexpectedly, staring straight ahead, refusing to look at his best friend. "I..._I_ didn't." Awkwardly he rolled the can in his large hands, "I figured Jesse St. Prick was still better for her than either one of us."

Puck took a large swig of his beer, also refusing to look at the man beside him, "Ever get over the number she played on you?"

"Nope."

"Fuck."

The men proceeded to watch the rest of the game (except for cursing at the ref for making fucking piss-ass calls) in silence.


	5. What I Want

**A/N:** Told you I'd update soon…what has it been? Like three hours since the last one Yay, the creativity is flowing again. Except now it's midnight, and I should really get to bed. Night guys!

**Disclaimer:** None of this is truly mine…alas…

He'd pulled his truck up behind the pink Mini-Cooper thinking to help out whoever owned the girly car with the reasoning that might need a manly-man's touch (like they had a flat tire or some shit) and 2. that the chick who owned the car might be hot.

Puck got out of his car and walked toward the curb, barely stifling a groan of frustration. _Of course_ it was Rachel perched by the side of the road. She looked slightly green as she sat miserably puking her guts out into an airline barf bag. She didn't need a manly-man's touch…she supposedly got enough of that shit from her _husband_. But damn it to hell, she was still hot. Despite the puking. The universe obviously hated him.

"Bad milk?" he called out, amiably enough despite his sour mood. There was no reason to be a prick when she was obviously feeling lousy.

"I don't drink milk," she replied, her face crinkling in disgust. She used the back of one hand to swipe her mouth. Her other hand was on her stomach, gingerly, as if at any moment she expected it to rebel again.

"Are you okay? Can I get you something?" Puck asked.

"Water," she asked softly, "It's in the glove compartment. I could..." Puck opened the passenger side door of her little car before she could get up off the curb. He pulled out the bottled water, opened it for her and sat beside her on the sidewalk. It was comical, his knees jutting up high as he sat, where as she curled her arms around herself in the position comfortably, resting her head on her knees, effectively rolling herself into a little ball. He eventually gave up the uncomfortable position and let his long legs fall in front of him.

"Feeling better?"

She nodded in response as she took the cool bottle and placed it against her forehead. A few moments of companionable silence passed between them.

"You're leaving Lima pretty quick," he commented eventually. She looked up at him, her eyes questioning. "I saw the suitcases in the back seat."

"They didn't fit in the trunk," she explained.

Silence again. It appeared they were getting good at silences. She took a small sip of the water. Puck couldn't help but stare at the soft fullness of her lips as she licked away the extra moisture. He shook his head clear.

"You have a lot of bags."

"I guess I packed an awful lot for a weekend getaway," she grinned ruefully, "I didn't think I'd be heading back to New York so soon."

He wouldn't ask. He'd be an idiot to ask. He should drop the thought all together...

"You miss your lover-boy too much and couldn't stay away?" he asked. Damn it.

She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. Her voice was raw and self-mocking, "I've been summoned back. The powers that be were not pleased I decided to take a vacation without consulting them first."

"Who the fuck are the powers that be?"

"My in-laws," she took a breath, "they own the Caprice Theater in Broadway where my show's playing. It runs for another month...and I didn't exactly ask for permission to leave before it finished its run."

"So?"

She shrugged, leaving his question unanswered. Rachel took a deep, fortifying breath. As she attempted to stand, Noah stood up alongside her, grabbing her arm to make sure she was stable on her feet. Just that soft pressure, the briefest of touches made her feel oddly secure. She felt an absurd sense of loss as he took his hands away once she was up. She bit her lower lip, "I…I wanted to…I mean I just…Noah…"

He looked at her, amused, "You gonna be able to form a sentence there Berry?"

"I'm glad I ran into you before I left," she said finally, "I said some really horrible things last night that I…well…things that I meant with all my heart actually, but" she carried on quickly before he could interject, "but they were things that happened in the past that didn't need to be brought up."

Puck stared at her, his gaze hard.

"What?" she gulped.

"You're doing that thing again…where you act all meek and mild. That shit's not natural Berry. Just fucking say what you mean. You wanna tell me I'm a jack ass for leaving you, then tell me I'm a fucking jack ass. No one controls your feelings Rach, except you."

"You make everything sound so easy."

"It is easy," Puck stated matter-of-factly, "You just say what you want. You do what you want." He cocked his head and looked at her, "What do you want Rach?"

"I doesn't matter…"

"Like hell it doesn't matter. Of course it does." He tilted his head to look at her, "What do you want?" He repeated.

"Well, I want…" she began softly, "I want to stay here, in Lima. I don't want to go back to New York," her voice grew stronger and more defiant with each word she spoke, "Everyone there is too cynical…too hard…and they look at people who show even a shred of human emotion as weak, pliable. I don't want to be hard and I'm sick of being manipulated. And I don't want to play Mimi. I hate her. I'm tired of being someone else. I barely recognize myself in the mirror anymore and…" abruptly she stopped her tirade. She looked up at him sheepishly, "Sorry, that was a little over the top." She shrugged nervously, "I guess no one's asked me what I wanted for a while."

Noah looked at her closely, at his Rachel, because something was wrong and he didn't know how to fix it. What was worse was that he suspected it all came down to the words he'd so carefully crafted for her sake four years ago…because he'd lied to make her life better. Her life didn't seem better. _His_ life was shit. In short, he'd managed to fuck everything up. He combed a hand through his shaved head in frustration.

"You shouldn't wait for someone to ask what you want. You should fucking tell them," he said angrily. He began to pace.

"Don't be upset," she urged softly. She placed her hands on his arm to still his movement. They both looked down at that point of contact. _Man hands_, they'd been called, but against his tanned capable arm they looked petite, delicate and fragile. But they were warm, and they calmed him. "It's just that no one wants to hear what I have to say Noah," she gave him a small, genuinely amused smile. It was that smile that caused him to finally cool off…simmer down.

"Didn't stop you before," he pointed out. "You said whatever the hell you wanted….even if it pissed people off."

"As I recall, I did a great job of pissing _you_ off in particular."

"Yeah,"

"And you had no idea how to retaliate. It was sad really, seeing you stammer in frustration until it all eventually climaxed-"

He interrupted her with a raised brow, "You were damn good at that too…"

She stared him down imperiously, "…as I was saying…all our arguments _ended_ with my winning them using sheer eloquence and you…well…muttering or shouting one profanity or another."

"What can I say Rach? You won mostly 'caus I had no idea what you were talking about. All those big words…I just assumed you were right."

"I wasn't always," she admitted, her eyes glinted in mischief.

"Well you had me fooled. You were always talented like that."

"I was good at deception was I?" she laughed humorlessly, the frivolity of the conversation gone now, "I suppose some things never do change, and I'd hate to waste my talent,"

"I wouldn't want you to do that either," Puck replied, his meaning going much deeper than the light banter he'd initiated, "That was always the problem."

She looked down, quickly catching on to his meaning. How easy it was to get lost in the playfulness that they'd enjoyed so freely and naturally before. It was easy, standing so close to him like this to forget that a vast space existed between them despite their proximity. When had life grown so complicated, Rachel wondered? What happened to the days when Regionals, Sectionals, Nationals, essays and tests were the only things on her mind? When crushes and heartbreak meant a week of binging on vegan ice-cream and cookies? Those words took on such different meanings now. Rachel Berry…St. James now, had been crushed and broken. What was the use in denying it when its cause was looking straight at her?

"Stay," he said softly, almost pleadingly. "Just stay in Lima Rach, if that's what you want."

"I can't" she stated simply. "I have a show to do. If I don't go back I'd be breaching my contract."

"Fuck the show," Puck growled. "You don't wanna do it."

"I have obligations to fulfill to…"she hesitated for a moment, "to the family."

Puck shook his head in disgust at the thought. Her family? Damn it. If they were her fucking _family_, then they had all the more reason to treat her like a queen, a goddess. That's what he would do if she was his family. But that was a thought he couldn't afford to dwell on now. "So they're your _family_," he barely stopped himself from sneering, "They should give you the break you want."

Rachel chuckled mirthlessly, "You've clearly never met the St. James'."

"I've met one of them," Puck replied gruffly, "That was enough."

"Hmmm," Rachel responded, sounding thoughtful. She was actually feeling reckless, like a pent up dam needing to explode. "Do you want in on a secret?" she whispered softly but wildly. Her hands had never left his arm, and she leaned closer to him, not risking a break in their contact. Did he want in on a secret she'd vowed to take to her grave? She'd made the choice after all, and she made a pact with herself…she would deal with the repercussions…alone if she had to. But looking at Noah, at his intense concentration, his grasping, clinging to her every word, she selfishly thought that maybe she didn't have to be alone. Maybe not this time. And wouldn't it be a miracle? If she took this leap of faith and found out it was well worth the risk?

"What's the secret Rachel?" She gave him a coy smile that had Puck's stomach churning, the instincts in his gut telling him to run if he wanted to protect himself. He ignored it…the churning, the instinct. He had to know…whatever the hell it was…he had to know. "Rachel?" he pressed.

"You've met three,"

"What?" Damn it, he wasn't following…his brain too slow to process the three words she'd spoken.

"You said you'd only met one St. James…that one was enough," she explained, "I'm telling you that today you've met three. What do you think of that?"

It was the split second of silence that betrayed his next casual, cool words. His gut screamed, 'I told you so, dumb-ass. I told you you wouldn't want to hear what she had to say.' There was only a faint gruffness as he asked, "Three?" he paused, "You knocked up Berry?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head. In denial, Puck prayed. God please, let her be shaking her head to tell me I'm way off base here. But when she opened her eyes revealing the sadness and confusion and the aching loneliness in them, Puck had the mad urge to strangle something. Anything. Preferably Jesse St. James.

Her breath was shaky and he saw the frantic expression on her face as she flung herself full force against him. He clung on to her tightly. Between the wild sobs she managed to whisper agonized and desperate, "I'm _fucked up_ Noah," she cursed bitterly, completely defeated, "tell me what to do."

.


	6. Some Memories

**A****/N:** Have I mentioned how amazing it's been reading the comments and reviews about this story? Thank you all so much for taking the time to do that!

So…a little bit of a different vibe…exploring a different, equally poignant relationship in our poor little Rachel's life…Hope you enjoy! (Or at the very least, are entertained…I promise to get on the next chapter soon.)

**Disclaimer:** None of it really mine…

Tell her what to do? Was she serious? _His_ mind could barely register the news…didn't really believe what he'd just heard. But had she confirmed it? He thought about her words, her reaction. Had she actually gone and said, "Noah, I'm pregnant."? _Had she_?

"Look Rach," he began his voice carefully controlled, "Babe, you know I'm not really the smartest guy out there." He heard her sniffle. "Rachel, you have to be completely straight with me here so I know what we're dealing with."

He felt her shake her head against his chest. "What _I'm_ dealing with," she interjected softly.

"Baby, we got this," he insisted, "the two of us. I promise." He inhaled deeply and let the sweet scent of her hair fill his nostrils. God he missed this…her…the two of them together.

"No," she resisted firmly with a near violent fervor, "No we don't. _We _can't fix this. It's up to me." Rachel tried to pull away from his tight, comforting hold, but he stubbornly kept her there closely tucked against him. "Noah," she looked up at him pleadingly. "Please," she whispered, "You have to let go."

A glint of anger lit his eye, and so he did let go of her, slowly, deliberately, in painful increments, cruelly putting a foot of space between them. "Is this what you want?" he demanded.

She looked down, her hands rubbing against each other, and then balling into fists…her uneasiness kept them moving aimlessly. She swallowed and took in a shaky breath. "Yes," she stated, meeting his eyes directly, her voice instilled with bravado.

"Liar," he accused as though he'd spoken the world's dirtiest profanity. Why did she do this to him? Over and over again, like a skipping CD. So he'd broken up with her. That was no crime. He'd broken up with a lot of chicks in his day. And what the hell was her problem anyway? So she was married and unhappy and possibly knocked up. What was the fucking big deal? It happened all the time. That's the choice she'd made. She had to live with it now. That was _her _problem. Not his. She was right. He didn't have to deal with this bull shit.

Then he looked at her…at her tiny frame, at her slumped shoulders, her face…emotions written all over it as she tried to regain her composure. He felt a gigantic surge of guilt flow into him. He was vain enough to think for a moment, that maybe he'd done this to her somehow. And if he had made her this miserable, how the fuck was he going to fix it now?

"I'm sorry," Puck heard her say, "I was overly emotional just then. It happens sometimes when I don't get enough sleep. And I tend to babble on about nothing. You should just ignore me. You've had practice with that haven't you?" She managed quite craftily to let that barb in. She moistened her lips, "Look, I have a plane to catch. It was _interesting_ seeing you again, and just as hard as I thought it would be," she gave a small humorless laugh, "but I guess I'm glad that it's been dealt with."

"Why was it hard?" he asked softly, with apparent newly acquired masochistic tendencies.

"I know four years is a long time. A lot of things have happened between then and now. I wanted to forget everything…this town, the people, the gossip…But I couldn't Noah."

"Why couldn't you?"

She took a deep breath in and gave him a dazzling smile. It didn't reach her eyes. It was a smile to fool the crowd. Noah wasn't fooled. She shrugged her shoulders carelessly and glanced quickly at her watch. "Gerald will be extremely put out if I don't hurry. His pilot doesn't like to be kept waiting. I have a schedule to keep. I am a star you know, and as much as we put merit on being fashionably late, it can't contest with the St. James' credo for punctuality."

Her abrupt mood change from despondency to an almost crazed cheerfulness was nothing new to her. She put on a show like this every day. Rachel St. James…Broadway's Spit-fire…Rachel St. James…Broadway's Untiring Diva…Broadway's Shining Star. She made the society headlines, she and Jesse arm in arm, gleaming, glowing. They were the Great White Way's Power Couple, and with the St. James fortune backing them, there was nothing that could possibly slow them down…nothing except the little hiccup that was always threatening the side lines…Rachel _Berry_ trying to find her way back to the surface.

Noah didn't know what to make of the sudden shift. He frowned a little. There was a wall of impenetrable bull shit she'd erected between them and he couldn't seem to pummel through it. "I' think I'm losing you here Rach," he admitted. In this state, she seemed untouchable. The star on a high pedestal she kept claiming she would be one day.

"Oh Puck," she sighed too sweetly. He grimaced at her use of his nickname. It made her even more distant, more foreign to him, "You've already lost me."

And he stood there, immobile as she gave him a chaste and cold peck on the cheek. "Some memories shouldn't ever be brought up again," she whispered with a deep intensity. He didn't even move when she walked to her car…when she drove away leaving him in the dust.

**(GLEE!)**

"Do you _have_ to give him a reason to loathe you?"

"You mean more than he already does?" she snapped. She was sitting in front of her vanity in their large, spacious bedroom, brush in hand as she combed through her thick locks. The turn of their conversation had halted her nightly regime as she focused on her husband. He perched himself on a corner of their bed looking directly at her. He sighed deeply, as if readying himself to deal with an upcoming temper tantrum.

"Rachel," he began, "a rational conversation between us will be impossible if you insist on being difficult and childish."

Rachel's eyes glinted in rebellion. Childish was she? Of course he would think that. She'd voiced an opinion that contradicted his. Of course she was being difficult. Would her opinions ever mean anything in their relationship, she wondered. Had they ever meant anything at all?

"Jesse," she tried for a reconciliatory tone, "There are reasons, _valid reasons_ for why this needs to addressed. We can't keep living here. We've been married three years Jesse. We can't stay in your uncle's house forever."

"Rachel, this is my home," he responded flatly.

"Your home was in Ohio," she protested, "You can't possibly use that as an excuse."

"I live here, in New York now. You live here too. We live in this beautiful, gigantic, expensive house. What more could you possibly ask for? I'm the only member of the family that Uncle Gerald trusts. He relies on me. You know that." Jesse shook his head, "When my parents passed away he was there for me, supporting me every step of the way. I _owe _him. I owe him this. It's all he's ever asked me to do." He got up and walked towards her, eventually kneeling in front of her. "As my wife, I need your support. I need you to understand how important this is." He gently took the brush out of her left hand and placed a light kiss in her palm. "Can you do that for me?" he asked with a tender urging. "Please?"

She'd almost forgotten that Jesse could be like this, soothing and kind. Lately, more often than not, he'd been distant and indifferent towards her. Maybe she'd been to blame, shutting down slowly but surely until there was no fight left in her. She hadn't known when she first met him exactly what _St. James_ meant in the grand scheme of the world. She didn't know it meant power, savvy, and a hard unrepentant ruthlessness that was necessary to uphold the notoriety that came with the name. She was more than aware of it now. She _was_ a St. James. They expected her to emulate all those things. But Rachel had been a dreamer, and yes, she'd been willing to work hard, to pummel the competition…but on fair terms and even battle fields. Was it any wonder then, that she'd lost herself somewhere in the blurry façade?

When she'd come back a week ago he'd said nothing about her abrupt departure, about the note she'd left behind that all but said she was leaving him. He'd met her at the grand entrance, features frenzied and unschooled. His business suit, normally pressed and immaculate was wrinkled…as slovenly as Jesse St. James would ever get. His face was unnaturally haggard, but his stance had been tense, ready to spring at the slightest provocation. When she's neared him, ready to state her case, ready to make it clear that she wasn't a pawn to be manipulated and sacrificed, he'd pulled her roughly towards him, and kissed her with the passion of a starving, desperate man. _I _need _you_ he'd gasped showering frantic kisses along her temple, her cheek, her neck. _I _need_ you._

And since then…since then _what_ exactly? She was still miserable. The terror that _was_ Gerald St. James still loomed above her head like a proverbial dark cloud…but she spoke up more. She pretended less, breaking the illusion of perfection, addressing the issues that she had pushed back before. And somehow, amidst all that, despite the growing strain between herself and her husband that had always existed, but was now palpable and clearly drawn between them, she was beginning to form a new sort of acceptance to her lot in life. She felt more solid than she had in years. She knew it was time to let him know. She was strong enough for that now.

"I have to tell you something," she began, "it's important…Jesse, it's…it's life altering." She drew in a shaky breath, knowing the point of no return was coming like a freight train at full speed ahead. She tried for a small smile as she entwined her small hand in his, the diamonds in her rings twinkling vividly despite the sparsely lit room. His eyes looked at hers intently, in anticipation. She opened her mouth to speak, and…a loud insistent pounding came from their bedroom door. Jesse gave her an apologetic shrug as he got up to answer the door.

"I'm sorry. It must be important."

Rachel nodded, "Of course. Go see who it is."

She didn't know how to feel. Relief? Disappointment? Should she take the interruption as some sign from the universe to hold her tongue? She rolled her eyes at her own reaction. Great. Now she was superstitious too.

To keep her mind occupied, she walked over to the night stand to have a look at her phone. There were text messages and emails galore that she needed to check, mostly from members of her cast. Where the hell did she disappear to this weekend? Why the hell didn't she tell anyone? She knew she owed them a legitimate answer, but she hadn't quite formulated a sufficient response yet. An email caught her eye and curiosity got the better of her. **Subject:** Wants; **Sender:** owner berrybnb .net . Casting fears of viruses and fraud aside, she opened it.

_You never did get around to asking me what I wanted,_ the letter read. And there was a picture attached. Rachel sitting on Puck's lap, arms around his guitar as he had his arms around her. The camera had caught her mid giggle and Puck was grinning down at her. It wasn't his signature grin laced with large doses of sarcasm. It was an indulgent one…he looked fond of her. Rachel bit her lip. No. She had to be honest with herself. Here, currently alone, she was allowed to let herself really remember how it was. This picture showed _her_ Noah. Back then he had been smitten with her. Back then he loved her. _You were right when you said that some memories shouldn't be brought up again. _The note continued_ This isn't one of those memories Berry. I'm here. I've always been here. I just need you to tell me where to go._ _–Noah_

Rachel paled wondering how her dreams and her nightmares could be rolled so neatly into one package. She quickly closed the email, uncertain of what to do next.

That was when Jesse returned.

"I'm sorry you were interrupted. You were saying?"

Rachel sputtered, "Oh! I don't…I have no recollection of what I was going to say."

"It was life altering?" he prompted, a teasing grin on his face. Because they both knew Rachel could be dramatic when she chose to be.

"No," she shrugged, smiling sheepishly, "it's completely slipped my mind." And for the life of her, she couldn't understand why she didn't just blurt it out to him right then and there. There was absolutely nothing, no connection at all between Puck's email, and the news that needed to be shared between herself and her husband.

"Well then," Jesse took her arm and urged her down to the side of their bed, "I have something for you."

She hadn't noticed the package he held in his hand, wrapped in crisp brown paper. He gave a quick nod of assent when she looked at him questioningly as she began to unwrap it. The velvet jewelry box the paper revealed was roughly the size of a notepad, and rose three inches high.

"I had it commissioned." Jesse's voice was excited and expectant. "I told them to have it delivered and shipped as soon as it was done."

Rachel's mouth was dry. Her hands shook with fine tremors as she lifted the case open. She gasped.

The necklace was made of thousands of spider web-fine gold chains. It would go, she realized from the column of her neck and dip down near the swell of her breasts. Interspersed through the delicate golden weaves were highly polished stars that glinted brightly.

"Gold stars," he chuckled when he noticed where her gaze lay, "I know they're your thing."

Rachel swallowed thickly.

"Do you like it?" he asked eagerly.

"It's…" she tried to choose her words carefully, "It's _a lot_ Jesse."

"It's ostentatious," he agreed, "But you're a St. James Rachel, you deserve statement pieces like this. Then people will know who you are; that you're an important part of this family." _That we own you_.

"That's really thoughtful," she managed, "I…" she licked her lips, stalling for time, "I'll have to find an occasion to wear it."

"How about tonight?" he suggested. She heard his voice grow thick with lust, his hands beginning to roam her body in possession, "and you wear it for me?" He pulled the necklace out of the box and draped it around her neck, fastening the clasps of the heavy choker, "Beautiful," he gasped, taking in the sight of her. He tugged downwards roughly until her nightgown fell around her waist.

"I love you Rachel," he whispered fervently against her skin.

She closed her eyes tight.


	7. Being Good

**A/N:** So…I totally suck for not writing anything for a long LONG L.O.N.G. time. I'm sorry. I was uninspired. And, I (gasp) was momentarily on Team Finchel (I know! I KNOW! Apparently the whole season finale got to me, and I soaked up the sap that was Finn and Rachel's teeny bop romance) I had part of this written ages and ages ago thinking absolutely nothing of it, and then this morning, what did I hear on my cell phone, but a little blip…a blip that came from . OMG! Someone was reading my story and actually liked it! Figuring I had some time on my hands (seeing as I have laryngitis and basically have no way to communicate verbally with anyone, and my head hurt from too much Super Mario Brothers Wii) I decided I should go back to my stories, do some tweaking, and do some writing. Apologies for being a bit rusty with the characterizations as well. Hope I stayed relatively true to the characters. Since some of this was older material revamped, we're going to assume that Rachel never did find out about the Santana and Finn bit until much later…or, that she was the one to break things off (instead of continuingly being sickeningly obsessed with him, and turning to hunky Noah for the rebound). Hope you enjoy! And I pinky swear I'll have another chapter up by Saturday.

**Disclaimer:** Glee…not mine…all in good fun only.

_Fucking J.D. _Puck woke to the sound of metal clanging as it hit what he could only presume was the kitchen tile. He groaned and ran a hand through his shaved head as he sat up. He glanced to the left side of his bed. The digital clock read 2:13 PM. No fucking way. Half a day lost…again. Grimacing, he attempted to piece back the haze that was the night before. Nope…nothing. He shrugged. Wasn't that what he'd wanted all along? He was a hardworking, red blooded, bad-ass, alpha fucking male. He deserved a night out…or seven…or whatever. His head wasn't messed up at all, thinking about a boring, meek, repressed midget who was back in New York and probably having sex with her dip-wad husband. He never thought about her big brown doe eyes that made him want to do stupid shit like hold doors open for her, or sling his jacket (which was too big by the way because she was so fucking tiny) whenever she was dumbass enough to forget her own (which was often). He didn't drink because he swore he could actually hear her voice talking in his head, "No-_ah_! Stop it!" (she'd always pretend to be shocked or scandalized or whatever) and then she's let out disgustingly cute giggle (which meant, "I secretly love that you've shocked or scandalized or whatever_ed_ me, so, please, really, just _don't _stop")… He didn't play his guitar anymore, because damn it, only pussies remembered how well their (_very_) ex-girlfriends would sit on their laps as they attempted to teach them how to play. Whatever. Guitars were lame. Puck drank because he damn well wanted to. _And also_…a piece of his brain rebelled, _because you miss Rachel_. He sighed, because really, what more could he do to try and control his shit? Suddenly, Puck heard another sound, this time distinctly like a plate slamming and smashing to the ground. Puck covered his ringing ears, still sensitive from today's hangover. There was really only so much a guy could take. _Fucking J.D._

"Crap!" came an exclamation from the other room. Puck shook his head. Scratch that. _Fucking Finn. _

Puck leaned against the doorframe to the kitchen watching his buddy make a grilled cheese sandwich. He shook his head in disbelief as his friend attempted-and failed several times to flip the thing over, somehow managing to drop his spatula in the process. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "How the hell were you ever the QB? You're a fucking klutz."

"Hey man," Finn gave a goofy smile, as he stood up from retrieving his utensil. "Finally up? Sandwich?"

"As long as we don't have to like serenade it or some shit if the burnt part looks like Elvis," Puck smirked.

"You promised you wouldn't bring that up again."

"Yeah?" Puck shrugged, "I lied."

"How's the head?" Finn asked, changing subject quickly as he noticed how every so often Puck would use his fingers and thumb to rub his forehead, wincing all the while.

"Sucks," he grunted.

"I'll bet," Finn paused, "You were wasted last night man," Finn commented unnecessarily. Puck shot him a dirty look, because, well, _obviously._ "If I didn't know you for a heartless a-hole," continued Finn, "I'd guess it was seeing Rachel again that's gotten you on this crazy binge."

Puck had a sudden, very vivid vision of smashing Finn's head against the stovetop. "Good thing I'm a heartless ass," he replied instead sardonically.

"But you know what would really suck?" Finn persisted, apparently ignorant of his friend's growing hostility, "If you somehow ended up with her cell phone number last night and sent her a drunk text message."

Puck suddenly froze. F.U.C.K.

Finn smirked, "'Cause _that_ would be embarrassing."

Think, think, think! Puck thought, attempting to spring his alcohol saturated brain into action. No contact for four years. There's no way in hell she could have kept her old cell number. He grinned at the memory of that bedazzled piece of shit phone she used to have. Wait, think…was there a chance…

"By the way," Finn stated casually, "Kurt called this morning while you were sleeping it off. He wanted to know how _it_ went. Now what could my brother who incidentally lives in New York, be calling you about?"

"Fuck you Hudson," Puck growled almost feral as he near ran to his room to retrieve his phone. "Don't you have a shitty job to get to?" he asked distractedly when he returned and saw Finn continue to sit contentedly at the table taking a gulp of his coffee.

"I don't teach on Saturday's man…" Finn responded seriously while attempting to stifle a grin at his friend's sudden panic.

"Leave my goddamn house," Puck ordered. Finn let out a laugh. "And stop stealing my goddamn food!" Puck commanded. He looked menacing, like a warrior ready to do battle if he wasn't obeyed (albeit in a wife beater and sweats) as he angrily pointed to the door, cell in hand.

Cavalierly Finn stood up and headed to the exit. As Finn's hand reached to turn the doorknob to leave, he heard Puck order him to wait. "What?" he asked.

"Pottery Barn, dipshit."

"Huh?" Finn asked, worried that maybe he had gone too far, and that quite possibly his friend really had lost it. Puck wasn't even looking at him and was instead completely absorbed in the process of scrawling through the 'sent' messages on his phone. And yes, maybe he _shouldn't_ have mentioned Rachel. Because he sure as hell knew her name was completely taboo. "Look, dude…I…" his voice was contrite, "It was out of line man, I…Look, Kurt only really wanted me to say…"

Puck finally looked up from his phone to face him, a weird sort of calm acceptance on his face almost chilling after his previous frantic motions. "I want you to go to Pottery Barn." Finn's brows furrowed in confusion. "My plate dumbass," Puck clarified, "Buy me a fucking plate to replace the one you broke."

**(GLEE!)**

"Look, the fact that I was drunk doesn't change a fucking thing. I still—"

"I won't leave my husband," she stated flatly as she abruptly interrupted him.

"Rach—"

"And I won't have an affair with you."

Two beats of silence passed between them. Those moments of frozen shock were the longest of Noah Puckerman's life. He'd always thought that if there were one person, one person in the entire universe who would always give him the benefit of the doubt, it was Rachel Berry. Where was her fucking faith in him now? It never occurred to him that maybe there might have been some basis to the crap she'd been spewing out, like how she was a "different person" or how they should forget all the shit they'd been through together. Well maybe she _was_ right, because _his _Rachel—she wasn't a heartless, soulless bitch.

"Is that why you think I'm calling?" Puck asked darkly, "You think I wanna break up your fucking love nest with Jesse St. Jack-ass?"

"I…" she hesitated, "Look…Jesse's a good person," Rachel responded, "and he deserves far, far better than me." She shook her head in despair for a moment, then covered her face with her hand as if to calm the shaking, "But he chose _me_, and…The fact that I'm even speaking to you…" her voice was soft but frantic.

"Talking to me's no fucking crime."

"No," she agreed softly, "But, god, if you only knew. The fact that I'm even considering…" A desperate, aching sob escaped her lips, "Clearly I'm…I'm not a good person. A good person wouldn't…" She gave a small half crazed laugh, "I can't even finish a sentence."

"No. You can't," he was angry. His voice was harsh.

"I'm sorry," she apologized.

He shrugged on the other end, and his tone went swiftly nonchalant, as if the whole thing was of little consequence to him, "Whatever. It's fine."

"No," she contradicted, "no it's not. I know I must have hurt you by being so presumptuous." She hurried on before he could correct her. He would have said something to the effect of, 'It takes a lot more than some stupid words to get to a bad ass. I wasn't hurt…not even fucking close.' He would have been lying.

"My coping mechanisms aren't very sound right now," she continued, "I have a lot on my plate, and I find that instead of tackling my problems head on by baking vegan sugar cookies or devising elaborate acts of contrition, I tend to…"

"Act crazy?"

She tilted her head to the side, "I was going to say, 'act irrationally,'"

"So…act crazy."

A rueful grin grew on her face, "Essentially, yes,"

"I'm used to your crazy Berry."

"I suppose you are," she agreed. And somehow that acknowledgement justified the whole fucking ordeal Puck knew was only just around the bend. Because he could deal with her brand of crazy, and apparently there was a lot of it going around. "Look Noah…I…" she paused, "I really am grateful that you called." She inhaled deeply, "I really needed a…" she hesitated, "a _good_ friend, to keep me sane." Quietly he raised a brow at that comment. "Sometimes Lima seems like a dream world away, and the grit and grime of New York is the only thing that's real. It's nice to know I have a friend there that can at least try to keep me grounded."

They let that comment sink in for a while.

"You're fucking scary sometimes Berry, you know that?"

"What do you mean?" she asked weakly.

"I don't know what to expect from you. Sometimes you're you know, like, pretty normal-for you." He smiled as he heard her give a faint huff in protest, "And then other times, you act like a creepy Goth girl, but without the tacky make-up."

"There are times when I certainly don't feel like my old self," she admitted. "I think I've been wallowing in a lot of self-pity lately. It's not very healthy."

"It must be like, a hormone thing," Puck offered, attempting to bait her.

"Could be," she responded noncommittally.

"Look Berry," Puck began haltingly, "I—I'm really calling because you didn't seem good. In Lima—you didn't look good babe. And I know you have a lot of shit you need to work out, and I respect that. I just…fuck…I just didn't want you to think you had no one to be there for you."

"Harboring some feelings of guilt Noah?" she asked without malice, but with genuine curiosity.

"Maybe."

"If we're going to be serious about forming what I hope will be nurtured into a mutual means of support, we have to get one thing clear immediately. You shouldn't ever feel guilt." She sighed, "I made these life choices, and regardless of my reasons for making them, they were still _my_ choices. You had no say in any of them."

"I didn't tell you to marry Jesse."

"No you didn't," she confirmed.

"You told me I did."

Rachel winced, "Well, you know I can be a bit dramatic sometimes," she tried to shrug it off.

"I told you to find someone who was better for you than I was. I didn't say that guy was Jesse."

"I guess you weren't specific enough," she attempted to joke. Apparently she wasn't funny.

"I thought for a while that you might go back to the golden boy."

"The golden boy?"

"Finn."

"You thought I'd go back to Finn?" she asked incredulously.

"It made sense."

"How…how would that make sense?" she wrinkled her nose in confusion. "He betrayed me Noah. He cheated on me."

"He made a stupid mistake."

"He slept with Santana," she countered.

"One time!" he exclaimed. She cast him a skeptical look, and he quickly revised his proclamation, "Okay, maybe twice, but the first time, the two of you were totally not together."

"Why are you defending Finn right now?"

"Because you're telling me that if a guy makes a mistake _one time_ that you'll never forgive him." Puck exclaimed, clearly exasperated.

"Well…" Rachel swallowed thickly. "I forgave Jesse. Look how well that turned out for me."

Puck didn't respond. Apparently she'd made a solid point.

"Do you forgive me?" he asked quietly…the one question he'd been trying to avoid.

She was silent for what Noah felt was an eternity, "It was a long time ago," she began, "But it was so real for me. I really…I really thought when we said stupid things like always and forever and…and love…that we meant it. And maybe we did…then, anyway. I don't care about being good anymore Noah. Going back to Lima, and seeing you. It changed all that for me. I'm pretty convinced that…I know now that…I need you in my life Noah."

"Do you forgive me?"

"Noah…"

"Look, I'm just," he ran a hand through his shaved head in frustration, "Your answer doesn't change shit okay. Whatever you answer, it's just…it's just to appease my fucking curiosity…or whatever. I'm here now. We're gonna do whatever the hell _this_ is no matter what you say. You got me babe-right now. At this minute, from now on, I will grind with you whenever your hot little booty wants,"

"No-_ah_!" she protested her eyes widening, "Stop it!" she giggled, "I said, "Keep me grounded,""

"Kinky," he jibed quickly, "I can do that too babe."

He waited until her laughter abated. It was good to hear her laugh.

He sighed, "Rach, I really need you to answer the question…just…I know you have to go soon and I wanna hear it. I need to hear it," he amended.

"It won't change things? I feel like things are getting back on track and…You promise it won't change things?" she asked quietly. Though in that question, Noah's heart broke a little, finally knowing what her answer would be.

"Not a thing." He still needed to hear her say it.

All amusement was stripped from her voice. "I'm sorry but…no. Noah, I can't. I can't forgive you. Not for that. Not for leaving me."

"Yeah," he agreed gruffly, "Fair enough." _I don't forgive myself either._


	8. Pretty Little Prison

**A/N:** Hi Everyone! Some characters in this chapter decided to surprise me with their actions…I guess this story's gonna end up a bit longer than I first anticipated…because we all know this is a Puckleberry fic ;) Hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Alas, Glee in all its loveliness is still not mine.

"I disagree. I think it was a very poignant scene."

_Well of course you do_, Rachel thought rather nastily, _you're the producer's mistress_. "You didn't find the soliloquy rather vapid?" Rachel bated her aloud. _And I'll bet you don't even know what poignant means, you over-priced, brainless twit._

"No more vapid than other soliloquy's I've heard," she sniffed haughtily, "And besides," she continued, "It's really all about the delivery."

"Couldn't agree more," Rachael nodded…though her companion was too stupid to realize the patronizing gesture.

"And since Gerry was basically in charge of the casting,"

_And since Uncle Gerald had enough money that people were quite happy to look the other direction_, Rachel edited.

"There was no one that could have played the part better in like, all of America,"

_Gerald gave the part to a mob boss' wannabe actor son with abs defined enough to distract women, a rap sheet scary enough to impress men, and a daddy powerful enough to bring in the crowds night after night_, Rachel concluded in her mind.

"How Gloria gushes," rumbled a deep voice with a splash of learned old world charm, "You'd think she had a vested interest in the matter." He gave Rachel a smooth wink.

"Oh Gerry," Gloria brought out her practiced seductive smile as she touched his arm suggestively, "You know that anything you're interested in is important to me."

"Of that my dear, I have no doubt," he returned swiftly, "Now run along and play. I need to speak with Rachel."

Gloria pouted…actually _pouted_ at her abrupt dismissal. She opened her mouth to protest, but didn't miss the icy glint in Gerald's eyes. He wasn't joking. She left them with an inane twitter and a promise that they would _behave while she was gone_. Though in truth she was glad to have been sent away. If she had to endure anymore from that self-righteous little bitch she was going to blow a gasket! Damn all the St. James' she thought bitterly.

Officially, the gala held at the Museum of Modern Art was a fundraiser for the introduction of the arts into scholastic programs in various third world countries. Unofficially, it was a shameless plug for the newest play being produced by GSJ Productions. It was a high end affair, by-invitation only, the hoi polloi blocked by the intimidating security guards dressed in Armani, outside the main halls.

Despite the beauty and prestige, the sphere of the social elite no longer dazzled Rachel. Chastised initially for her inexperience in such a world, Rachel had taken up a façade of ennui which she no longer found she needed to fabricate. She had never felt so bored in a crowd of stuffy, self-satisfied imbeciles inexplicably blessed with seven plus figures in their various accounts (on and off shore). She knew the game too well to be intimidated by anything or anyone, save by the one man who shamelessly inspected her now.

"You're looking well Rachel," he took in her appearance. She wore a strapless, queen-anne cut, empire waist gown. The rich, deep blue silk satin of the gown was accented by a layer of cinched black lace. Her black, elbow length gloves only added to the dramatic flair. Her brown hair was artfully curled and piled on her head, and on her ears dangled a wave of sparkling diamonds, "like something out of an early period romance."

"Thank you for the kind compliment Uncle Gerald," she replied stiffly.

"Young Jesse unable to attend tonight's gala?"

"Hard at work in the office I believe. He does exhibit an exemplary dedication to his job."

"Leaving his beautiful young wife unescorted," Gerald tisked.

"Hardly unescorted Uncle," she replied with a pointed smile, "You're here to watch me, aren't you?"

Gerald returned her smile and moved subtly closer to her. "Your fangs are showing my dear." Rachel gasped. "Don't even think of giving me a reason to reprimand you tonight."

Rachel licked her suddenly dry lips, "I…I wouldn't…"

Then as if that moment was all imagined, Gerald was a pace away from her with a debonair grin. "Nothing to drink my dear?"

She swallowed thickly, "Thank you, but no." She was glad that she could recover quicker now from his mental attacks of dominance.

"I insist," he replied, a dark tone entering his voice as he gestured for a waiter, "At an event like this Rachel it would be unseemly not to drink. St. James' are social drinkers you know…adds to the general frivolity."

The waiter approached and Gerald retrieved two champagne flutes, then handed one to Rachel.

She held it in her gloved hand but refrained from taking a sip. He gave her a questioning look. "I'm not really fond of champagne," she said as a means of appeasing him.

He took hold of her wrist and she found herself pulled closer to him again. In a swift practiced motion, he led them away from prying eyes and ears, "I don't give a damn what you're fond of," he replied low and dark, "Don't embarrass me, and drink your goddamn beverage," he commanded.

She froze for a moment, as if attempting to collect her courage. "No," she finally replied defiantly. "I won't."

"Rachel. I will only warn you once."

"No!"

"You fancy yourself brave now, do you, trying to defy me. _Me_?" He took a casual sip of his drink, and then gave her a menacing curl of the lip. His gaze lingered at her abdomen. "If it's not one of us, then get rid of it."

"Wha…" she sputtered.

"I know about the man Rachel," he continued, "the one you've been associating with, unbeknownst to my pathetic nephew. But did you really imagine you could hide it from me?"

"I'm not hiding anything," she insisted.

"I won't pay for another man's bastard. If it's his, I want it properly and efficiently disposed of before the situation becomes messy."

That Gerald St. James was a monster, Rachel had never doubted. What scared her most was that she hadn't realized the true extent of his power.

She stifled a horrified sob. "You spoke to my doctor."

"We had a prior understanding before she took you on as a patient." He looked at her expectantly. "Do I need to intervene Rachel?"

She shook her head, "No…no…" she swallowed, "it's…it's Jesse's."

He dropped her wrist abruptly and gave a dashing grin, "Then congratulations. You must be very happy." Rachel shuddered, wondering if her being happy was an observation or an order. "The mayor's headed this way. Compose yourself," he scolded mildly. Rachel had grown pale from his verbal attacks and noticed only now that her hands were shaking. "And by god, drink your beverage." He winked as if she'd been in on the conspiracy all along, "You've always loved sparkling apple juice."

**(GLEE!)**

"How far along?"

She licked her lips nervously, "Going on two and a half months."

"Do you want it?" he asked, breaking the discomfiting silence between them, his eyes never leaving hers.

"What do you mean?" she asked weakly.

"You know what I mean Rachel," he said softly, "Do you want to keep it?"

"Jesse…"

"It's your choice."

"No," she contradicted, "No, it's…it's our choice. This is our baby." Her lower lips trembled, and Jesse was still, knowing she needed to say more. "But yes. I want it. I want to keep him or her, and I will…with you or without you," she added quietly.

He gave her a self-depreciating grin, "But you'd prefer without me," he remarked knowingly.

"I never said that."

"No, you're right, you uh…you wrote it down in a note and left me instead."

Rachel sighed shakily, "I don't wanna fight."

"Rachel, god…" he took her hands in his, and in a gesture so tender, Rachel felt near tears, he kissed them gently, "Neither do I. The last thing I ever want to do is fight with you."

He looked tired, Rachel thought. The long days were getting to him. Rachel had to believe that it was because despite appearances, Jesse wasn't…couldn't ever be like Gerald. He'd lost that spark of life in him…that unfeigned confidence that had at first drawn him to her. A thought occurred to her, unlike one she had ever thought in the three years of their damaged marriage…that perhaps Gerald was sucking Jesse dry too…

"How did we get here Jesse?" Rachel asked suddenly, urgent for answers, "I loved you so much. I loved how you challenged me, saw the potential in me, encouraged me to tackle my dreams head on. When did you st…" she faltered, but knew it had to be answered, "When did you stop loving me?"

He shook his head, willing her to believe him, "I never once stopped loving you. I still love you. I'll never stop."

"Then…"

He knelt in front of her then, resting his forehead against her abdomen. There. He felt it now, slight as it was…the bump…his child.

"I love you Rachel."

"Jesse…"

"I can't deny my love for you. It's here. It's real." He heard her sharp intake of breath and continued, "But I fucked up Rachel,"

"What do you mean?" her eyes widened in surprise as he stared at her loathing himself for the words he was about to speak.

"I love you…" his voice cracked, "but I envy you more."

**(GLEE!)**

"The fuck man?"

"Dude, it's really no big deal," Finn shrugged, "I'll be for like four days. I probably won't even see the big Christmas tree with all the people ice skating around it."

"Clearly not dumb-ass. It's the beginning of February," Puck quickly responded. Sometimes he really wondered what the hell was going on up there. "What I'm pissed about is the fact that you didn't even bother to tell me you had all these plans to head to New York."

"Didn't think my mom's anniversary was something you cared about."

"I don't."

"Hence why you didn't get an invitation man." Puck opened his mouth to speak, but Finn interrupted before he was able to say a word, "and there's no way I'm letting you use the wedding anniversary as some covert excuse to go see Rachel."…maybe Finn wasn't as clueless as he seemed. "If you want to see her, grow some balls and go see her. Stop being such a wuss. Your bad-ass is slipping man."

Finn grew concerned at Puck's lack of response (i.e. he wasn't trying to beat the shit out of him for making that particular observation), "It's pretty obvious you want to see Rachel. So go to New York and see her."

"You don't get it," Puck paused. "You didn't see her man. She's all messed up and angsty. If I went to see her, _just_ to see her, I feel like, you know, I'd fuck things up while she's trying to get her shit together. I'd make things worse."

"What are you talking about? As far as I can see, she's living her dream. She's rich. She's hot. She's on Broadway just like she wanted."

"You don't know shit,"

"Yeah? And you do? You see her a couple times after four years, chat with her on the phone a few times, and suddenly you're the expert on how much her life sucks?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's what I'm saying."

Finn shook his head, "You're messed up man." At Puck's silence he continued, "You need to regain some focus for a second. You can't just suddenly drop everything for…what? Do you even know what you're getting into? I thought you were still in the middle of sorting out your own life. You want Rachel. Fine. I get that. I totally get that man. You say her life sucks. Fine. How are you gonna fix it? You booze yourself up every day, you dump chicks in the trash like last night's leftovers…how are you any different from the douchebag who left her four years ago?"

**(GLEE!)**

Finn stared at his phone like it was a foreign object. It wasn't like him to brood…to overanalyze things. Mostly he just liked being happy. There was nothing wrong, he thought about being easy go lucky…not pissing anyone off…nothing wrong with being generally liked. But here he was, staring at his phone, wondering for the umpteenth time just how much this was going to bite him in the ass later…and more importantly, how much he cared about those consequences.

He wasn't like Puck. He wasn't quick to anger, rash at making decisions. He was a safe guy. He was a good guy. He was the _nice_ guy. In his world, nice guys never seemed to get the girl.

He rested his elbows on his thighs then rested his head on his hands, the phone in them against his forehead. He closed his eyes and thought about her voice. God, he loved that voice…hesitant, then amused, then warm. He wanted to sigh in relief when she told him. When she told him everything. Because didn't that mean she trusted him? After all those years she knew he was the last person she could lie to.

"Of course we should meet."

"Where?"

"Well, by all means here. Come and see my pretty little prison."


End file.
